Roses and Curtains
by alwaysimagined
Summary: Were rose petals cliché? Would she want rose petals? The problem, he decided, was that he could never decide whether Pepper was so special he wanted to give her every cliché, or whether she was so special he wanted to make sure she never had to deal with any of them.


Maybe he should do rose petals.

Were rose petals cliché? Every romantic movie in the world always had rose petals on the bed somewhere in it. Did that mean you _had_ to buy rose petals? Who cleaned up those petals anyway? Did the girl clean up her own rose petals in the morning?

That seemed cruel. Making the girl clean up her own rose petals. But would Pepper still want them anyway?

The problem, he decided, was that he could never decide whether Pepper was so special he wanted to give her every cliché, or whether she was so special he wanted to make sure she never had to deal with any of them.

Well. Either way, he would have to chalk up tonight as another cliché on his ever-lengthening list. Right next to the giant bunny. He hoped this one turned out better.

One-night stands were so much easier, really. No hassle and he didn't have to deal with icky things like emotions and trust and, ugh, _love_. Just a bit of fun and then out of bed in the morning; didn't even have to say good-bye, just head down to the shop and know that Pepper would take care of them, show them the door without any fuss like the complete wonder woman she was. She was a complete amazon, really, and…

And since when did even the briefest thought of another woman—this one was even worse, not even another woman, the _idea_ of another woman—send him on a tight circle back to how amazing Pepper was?

Oh, god. He was one of _those_ guys now, wasn't he.

He busied himself around the room, picking up random objects and setting them down. The doors to the balcony were opened, then shut, then opened again. The view to the ocean was really picturesque and maybe if he was lucky a breeze would come in from the sea right when Pepper walked in, so that the white curtains would flutter or some other girly shit that happened all the time and, hey, didn't curtains fluttering mean sex in a bunch of old movies? Heh. That was funny.

A vase of flowers was perched next to the bed and Tony stalked over to it. None of the flowers were roses, but maybe it didn't matter what kind of flower the petals were, just that they were petals. He reached up toward one of the daisies, about to pluck it, when he remembered a girl he went to school with once—Daisy—and how she sneezed her head off every time she even went _near_ flowers and everybody always laughed and he put his hand back down to his side.

What if Pepper was allergic to flowers, too? And she just never mentioned it, because maybe it was a touch-only kind of thing? Then she'd walk in and see a bunch of petals and not be able to go near them.

And he'd be one of _those_ guys again. The kind that tried to make up with his girlfriend with a bunch of strawberries. Deadly strawberries.

No petals. That was decided. It was probably too much, what with the curtains and all. Would make everything seem like just some kind of pretty, sunset booty call.

A table was set outside on the balcony. Nice white tablecloth and chilled wine and a tray of food under a bunch of those silver dome-trays on carts like everybody always gets in fancy hotels (maybe he should get one for the house, have breakfast in bed all the time, but actually probably not, that might just take the fun out of things) were set out there.

He ought to check on things just one more time, though. Just to make sure. And he could think of poses to do when she walked in while he was at it. What was rogueish but classy? Leant against the wall? Sitting in one of the chairs? Maybe he could go for the old, draped-across-the-bed trick, but, oh, there was that booty call thing again—

"Tony?"

He froze. Setting down the glass he'd been examining, he walked back into the main room. Pepper stood in front of the door, her work clothes still on though her hair was down, loose around her shoulders.

"Pepper? I thought you'd be caught in traffic."

"I left a little early. Happy told me you had something planned and my last meeting got cancelled so I just…hopped in the car and…" she looked around the room as she spoke, taking everything in, "Tony what is all this?"

"All what? You mean the room? Well, the furniture is oak I believe and the carpet may possibly be—"

"No, Tony." She smiled. Her private, little 'you idiot' smile. A fond smile. His favorite, actually. "I mean what's the _reason_ for all of this? What's going on?"

"Ah. Well. Funny story really, you'd never believe how many hotel rooms are willing to book any room at any notice for Iron Man—"

"Tony."

"Did you know today was your two-year anniversary?"

"What? Tony, our anniversary isn't for another month."

"No. No. Not _our_ anniversary. _Yours._ This is the…" he coughed, "the two-year anniversary of the day you became CEO of Stark Industries."

"Oh. Oh, Tony, I knew that. Of course I did. Sort of. I marked it in the back of my mind I guess, but I don't think it warrants all this…"

"Last year was hectic. We didn't really…and anyway I'm Iron Man. And Tony Stark. From Stark Industries. You may have heard of it, very successful company. Brilliant CEO. Nothing's too much."

"I meant the attention, Tony." She rolled her eyes. "I meant warranting all this attention. I didn't mean the money." She started to set down her bag.

"I wanted to show you you're worth more than twelve percent."

The bag stayed frozen in her hand, inches above the floor. "What?"

"I wanted to show you you're more than twelve percent. You're…you're it, you know? You're it for me."

"Tony…"

He tried to take a deep breath subtly, but he didn't think Pepper was fooled. "And not just because you're all I have. You're…you're all I _need_ too, you know?"

She set her bag down all the way and walked over to him, then reached up toward his face with one hand, cupping his cheek in her palm. "Of course I know, Tony."

They ate dinner together out on the balcony as the sun set. After the salad she laced fingers with his left hand and neither of them let go for the rest of the meal.

After the desert course she turned and said, "You're it for me, too, you know."

That night, the curtains fluttered.


End file.
